Without Destiny
by Midori Kaze
Summary: If there were no serendipitous meetings, no rescue, no marriage of a sister...would Shinobu have felt the same? Would Miyagi have responded at all? It's possible...because love, destiny has a way of finding you no matter where you go, no matter how you try to hide. AU. Terrorist with minor cameos by Egoist and Romantica.
1. Waking

_Without Destiny_

_Chapter One_

"Sensei", the boy is saying now. His eyes are clear and cool and piercing.

There are days when Miyagi Yoh thinks he's going to be just fine, but this is not one of those days.

That's rather out of the ordinary, since he has always begun every semester refreshed as best he can be—refreshed to the point of being ridiculously determined, in fact. Determined that the next few months will be _it._ Determined to work his way through his melancholy, determined to forget.

He's been determined enough in the past that after the occasional late night, he would find himself thinking, _forget what exactly?_ Not that it doesn't return to him in moments, leaving his body shaking and eyes stinging.

Not that anything has ever actually helped him forget. He's close to accepting that nostalgia is an incurable disease.

Perhaps that is the reason this is not one of those days…nostalgia is never stronger than it is when he gazes absently at the freshmen spilling into their new classrooms, filling out new lives. _Maybe there's a reason the year begins in spring, when everything's green and young._

_I don't really fit into that green, young picture anymore. _He has felt weary and beaten all too many times, but this realization makes him feel old too.

He feels even older as he faces his class of students and delivers the one little speech he's perfected over the years. "Literature is an art, as much for the students as for the creator. If you feel that it can be taken lightly, or if you are not here because you really want to be…"

A small sigh escapes him, unheard.

"Do all of us a favor and leave the class now."

The usual tight silence, the eager and yet intimidated faces, and then a new reaction to the old line: for the first time in Yoh's memory, a boy sitting in one of the front rows picks up his bag and gets to his feet.

It takes some time for the professor's already rutted brain to register what is going on. By the time he has done so—by the time his eyes have fully absorbed the scattered boredom on the student's face—he has a second surprise to grasp; the boy stops halfway to the door. After a motionless moment of what appears to be deliberation, he's returning to his place with a shrug.

Yoh is too disinterested to feel offended or even curious.

"Made a decision yet, Mister…?" he asks. Even in the middle of his question his eyes have drifted away.

"Takatsuki", says the boy. "And yes." If he hears the faint giggles around him, he shows no sign of it as he unzips his bag, pulling out a new notebook and a pen. He gives Yoh a somewhat quizzical look as though wondering why he isn't getting on with the class.

_Takatsuki…_

_Isn't that the Dean of Economics?_

"Let's begin, then", he says briefly, and the spell is broken; he completes the class with no further event. He has all but forgotten that anything unusual even happened as he dismisses the students fifteen minutes early and leans heavily on his desk, regarding his battered textbook with a listless eye.

_What's wrong with me?_

"Miyagi-sensei?"

His head snaps up just slowly enough for him to compose himself; he hadn't thought there would be anyone left in the class by now. Sure enough, it's deserted except for the boy from before. His hair, brown and gold like desert sand, flops around his face as he cocks his head to one side.

"Takatsuki-kun", Yoh nods, not knowing what to say. The boy has no book with him and it's clear, from his behavior during the class, that he has no question about what was taught.

Takatsuki opens his mouth, then closes it again. _What an indecisive person,_ Yoh thinks, as yet another surprise is thrown his way. "You don't look very well, Sensei."

The professor straightens up immediately, willing his cheeks not to burn. "If I have arrived to take a class, I am healthy enough. What is it that you wanted to say?"

"Well", the student mutters, his expression incongruously fierce. "I had a question about what you told us at the start of the class, actually."

"And what about it?" Yoh's voice is strained.

"I was wondering—how do you expect students to make a decision if they haven't sat through a single session yet? It would make more sense to ask if we wanted to leave at the start of the second class."

The caustic retort is halfway to the older man's tongue when it freezes; stiffly, he raises his head to meet Takatsuki's eyes head-on and nods. "Thank you for pointing that out", he says. His voice is almost sincere. "I'll keep it in mind." He is not one of those teachers who despise being proven wrong, but the ease with which he accepts the mistake that he's made for years makes him feel older than ever before.

By way of rectification, he asks, trying to keep the indulgent tone out of his voice, "And you felt so strongly about this that you had to tell your professor about it after the very first day of class?" Spunk is one thing, but if it were Kamijou in his place…

Takatsuki does not look amused. "Sensei", the boy is saying now. His gray-blue eyes are cool and clear and piercing.

"I respect that you are teaching me, but I don't have to respect what is taught wrong, even coming from the teacher."

And by the time Yoh has finished processing this, the door has swung shut behind a retreating back. The man's gaze rests lightly on the doorknob before flitting back to his desk and the textbook on it.

_Even coming from the teacher,_ he thinks idly. A long, papercut-scarred finger traces the spine of the book with intimate reverence. _That's not the way I was taught, though._

_But I had a teacher who could make us believe that the sun rose in the west, if she chose to._

_Am I still not as good as that?_

Another sigh and his knees give way gracefully as he sits. _It's not bad enough that I can't forget her, that I now begin comparing myself to her?_

But wasn't that how it had started? With him saying that he wanted to be like her, to devote himself to what she had loved so dearly, to be as great as she was? _Just when did becoming like her turn into equaling her?_

The sweetness of his love is long past, but while the dregs are bitter, they are also deep.

_And now a chit of a boy reminds me that even after all this time, I'm not enough._

_And that I'm proving myself to a memory. How can I compete with someone who's dead?_ A shiver ripples through him; a small shoot of fear burgeons in his chest. He has never felt so old, so aware that death is just as inevitable for him too.

There truly are times when Yoh feels that he's going to be just fine, though. Such a time is right around the corner, but for now he cradles his Sensei's old textbook in the crook of a practiced arm and gets up to leave for his next class.


	2. Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me to Sleep

_Chapter Two_

_Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me to Sleep_

**Author's note: I have heard a lot about the perils of not using a disclaimer as I write, so here it is: I do not own any of the characters or manga I write about. The plot to a certain extent is mine.**

**The title of this chapter is taken from a line in AFI's song "Miss Murder". It features in the prelude but not in the actual song, though.**

* * *

Takatsuki really is the Dean of Economics, just as Miyagi thought. His son is Takatsuki Shinobu, and he sits off to a corner of the cafeteria and sips a glass of mineral water as the minutes slip by until his next class.

The laughter of fresh faces hangs heavy in the air, fragrant and spicy with spring. It is the time of year when the sakura have just stopped blooming; he has stood under sakura trees all by himself, Shinobu has, and finds them as vapidly beautiful as they would be if he'd had company. It is just as well that he's his own best friend, his own lover, his own parent and confidante. He always has been.

_Always,_ he smiles to himself. The thought feels wonderful. _How else am I supposed to feel, when I know that I'm the only one who can be relied on not to let me down?_

Of late, however, he finds it increasingly hard to deny the little thaw of sourness that has begun to invade him. Did it start with his return from Australia, or had it been festering for long before that? Either way, Shinobu now finds himself wondering at the new unrest in his heart. Where there was previously only peace, now stalks disquiet too; where there was contentment, there now is…

_Boredom. Is that it?_

It's not loneliness, he knows that, because he is never lonely. _I'm by my side, always. There's nothing to be lonely about._ His mind, brilliant if chaotic, is more than capable of splitting into an entire family if need be.

_Then if I'm not lonely, why should I be bored?_ He wonders. Does that mean that what he lacks is _new_ company? It's the first time that he's ever suspected that he may not be enough for himself, and it's not an angry thought. It is sad, though. It's hard for him not to feel sad as he looks at his fellow students properly for the first time and tries to suppress a pang at the thought that he is, after all, no different from them.

_How miserable I must look._ He doesn't feel nearly as wretched as he knows he is looking, moping in a far-off corner of the cafeteria with no food, just a lost expression. He tries to see himself, something that he's done several times before. His eyes show him a face that is far more forlorn than even he had guessed at; only then does he realize how hard this decreasing self-sufficiency has been for him to accept.

He wants to cry.

Then he tells himself, _I'm anyway not enough anymore. The least I can do is not be insufferable without it._ He will not compromise his relationship with himself for anything.

As he tries to distract himself from the progressively moodier thoughts accumulating in his head, a second image pixelates before him, equally sad. It takes him a while to recognize the face as that of his Literature professor. _Miyagi, he said his name was Miyagi Yoh._ Shinobu does not like referring to anything without a name; names are a part of dignity, and dignity a part of life, as far as he is concerned.

_What an old man…what sense does it make to show us the door before the first class? And that reaction, like no one had ever thought of it before…_it is no longer flattering for him to realize that once again, he's unconsciously been demonstrating far more perceptiveness than the average person. He is beyond that sort of flattery now; it is a fact of life for him that he is simply, naturally, effortlessly intelligent.

After all, that's the reason he's been enough for himself all along._ Always,_ he reminds himself. _Always._ In the past it did not so hollow. And he had never needed to say it twice.

There is just so much laughter floating on the wind…

"Bored", he whispers under his breath. "Boring. Bore."

He needs to find something that will not bore him, and he needs to do so fast. As he turns his back on the sea of humanity in the cafeteria, though, for the first time in his life Shinobu wonders if even he is capable of doing this.

* * *

_Books are my friends as well. So are pens and paper. And the leaves of freshly blooming flowers._ They always seem to smile at him when he passes by, and even if it is but a temporary relief that he feels, he is grateful. The library of M University is enormous, too. It breathes softly in its dust-patched shelves and aisles and hidden tables.

Shinobu smiles back in first greeting. _Yoroshiku onegaishimasu._ The pain in his chest, only a pinprick at first, gives a sharp, stabbing twinge; truly, nothing as ever come closer to the feeling of losing a precious lover. Admitting to himself that he needs company…reacting like this…does he really love himself that much?

_Myself or my solitude?_

_Either way,_ he thinks wryly, _I'm a narcissist. Or downright crazy in some ways. Or both. But then, all intelligent people are._

All intelligent people have a lonely path to go down if they choose to use that intelligence. Shinobu taught himself this long ago. What he didn't bother with back then, though, was learning the stubborn yet occasionally deflated despondence that comes to him with such thoughts.

He moves languidly from one towering shelf to another. His hands run over decade-old, century old spines, uncaring of the dust and cobwebs and mites his fingers sometimes encounter, heeding only the soft, wise murmur beneath the slumbering skin of the library.

_Could I read all these books in a year?_

_Do I want to?_ Wanting or not wanting has never mattered much to him in terms of learning. _How omnivorous of me._

_It's exactly this sense of directionlessness that is beginning to bore me,_ he thinks suddenly. _With everything so easy and the seemingly most difficult of tasks barely a challenge, how am I not supposed to be bored?_

_What do I want to do?_

And…

Why is Professor Miyagi here?

_Of course he can be here. He can live here if he wants to. He's a professor of literature._ The man is moving down the next aisle with small but confident steps. They are unhurried, almost prowling steps; the steps of a man who knows exactly what he is doing, and where he is going.

_Here's one thing that's hard—it's hard not to be jealous of that assuredness._

The older man stops in front of a shelf with a faint sigh, a hand rising almost blindly to pull out a book. Shinobu's heard that sigh twice before already. Its memory goes some way towards easing his jealousy—Miyagi clearly has something on his mind. Has had something on his mind since the morning, in fact, and he really doesn't look well…

The wide-eyed teen peers out from between two rows of books, his curiosity getting the better of his self-absorption. _Looks worse than he did._ While the Sensei he had seen in class was passably okay if dispirited, this one looks blatantly sad. A corner of his mouth twists down in an unhappy pull, mirroring the faint, almost tender frown he sports. His eyes are far away.

_His eyes…_

They're drifting shut. Shinobu is so fascinated by the gentle swell of the drop as it forms, by its cascading beauty, that it takes him a full ten seconds to realize what he's just witnessed; when he does, he pulls away from his peephole abruptly, cheeks burning.

_I did not just see that._ For all intents and purposes, the moment his literature professor began to shed tears in the library, Shinobu had gone blind.

He stops shuffling away from Miyagi as quietly as he can only when he's several shelves away, and his heart is still hammering…breathing slowly in and out, he rests his forehead on the wood of a table he's now sitting at and tries to calm himself. If possible, witnessing something so obviously private hurts even more than what's already twinging inside him.

_I did not just see that._

_I did see that._

"Urgh", he groans softly. This is all kinds of embarrassing. _To think he looked so much tougher a few hours ago that I went child prodigy on him._

"_I respect that you're teaching me…"_

"But I don't have to respect what is taught wrong." Saying it aloud reminds him that he's right. Who Miyagi may be as a person and who he is as a teacher have nothing to do with each other. Nonetheless, he's feeling more foolish by the minute for the way he spoke up in class. _It was wrong, but it was past, and irrelevant to the subject. Why did I have to point it out?_

_Because I'm smart?_ A part of him suggests impishly. He gives this answer some sincere consideration before shaking his head. _If he thinks even for a moment that I was trying to show off…_

_What does it matter what he thinks?_

_After all, I just saw him crying._

_I sure change moods fast,_ Shinobu thinks, almost amused now. To reassure himself of this, he repeats a little louder, "I don't have to respect what is taught wrong."

"Even coming from the teacher?" a voice from above him says quietly.

As his head snaps up and he looks wildly around, as he finds the gemstone blue regarding him with detached interest, all he can think is, _his eyes. They're still wet._


	3. Smoke

_Smoke_

"How did you like today's class, Takatsuki-kun?" Miyagi-sensei is asking. He sounds heavy.

There's too much embarrassment swirling around in Shinobu right now…far too much. He looks away quickly, unable to keep his eyes on the older man's still-damp ones any longer. _Doesn't he realize how pathetic he looks right now? How vulnerable?_

_Does he care? Do _I_ care?_

_Of course I care…but why?_

'It was good', he says at last, tracing the patterns on the woodwork of the table before him, refusing to look up. 'I particularly liked the introduction you gave us on Matsuo Basho. Not many teachers would go into that depth on the first day of class.' He remembers that it pleased him to be given that level of expertise from the start, so he offers his words with honesty. Some part of him wants to walk away.

"I see", Miyagi-sensei murmurs. "So, what's your ultimate decision?"

"About what?" Shinobu asks sullenly, wishing more than anything to be left alone. At any rate, he does not know how much longer he can stand this unashamedly naked presence beside him; he has no need to be dragged into another person's pain right now, and even less need to be trusted with the emotions of someone so much older.

_What is wrong with him?_

"About staying on or dropping the class. Or have you already forgotten the conversation you treated me to before leaving…?"

Now Shinobu does look up, his blush curdling with annoyance. _I don't "forget"._ He is about to say so, too, when he catches the gleam of hostility hiding behind the wetness that he had found so hard to look at. The man is fucking playing with him.

"I'm staying", he says immediately.

_And I'm going to kick your ass if you don't get that look off your face._

"Please excuse me, Sensei." He gets to his feet with more roughness than he intended; the shrill scrape of his chair on the floor rings in the silence of the library, oiling his angry footfalls as he brushes past his teacher and walks away.

* * *

"Takatsuki-kun, is it?"

Shinobu tries to focus through his dizzy cloud of irritation—some of which is rather misdirected at present—and smoothens out his scowl before meeting the eyes of the girl before him. "What can I do for you?"

"I was actually wondering if I could sit here", she says steadily. "Most of the other seats are already taken, and you seem to be alone."

There are two minutes left for the Economics professor to walk in. It won't be his father, he knows, and he's thankful. The class really is full; the girl is clear-eyed and looks smart. Shinobu nods.

There's a moment of quiet after she sits and before she speaks. "Third year. Kisaichi Risako."

"First year, Takatsuki Shinobu", the boy replies. "…though you seem to know that already." _She really doesn't look like a senior. More accurately, she doesn't look like a senior does when talking to a junior._ He likes that, somehow.

"Well, we heard that the dean's son would be starting college this year", she says offhandedly. "We also heard that he's brilliant, so it's a bit of a mystery why he's here when he could easily have gone to T University instead." Her eyes, blue-gray like Shinobu's but darker, are not really questioning. He likes that too.

"I didn't want the pressure that I'd be living with when attending T University", Shinobu says under his breath as the professor enters. "There's nothing I'm particularly interested in right now, so I figured it'd be easier for me to take a bunch of subjects at a slightly less hyped university and see where I go from there." It's the first time he's ever told anyone the reason, less because he wants to keep it secret than the simple fact that no one had ever bothered to ask, not even his father.

Before she can reply, Shinobu adds quickly, "Sensei's here. Let's be quiet now." Kisaichi Risako gives him a searching look before nodding and turning to her textbook, her deep brown hair waving down between the two of them. That, too, he likes. _She's all right._

Class is all right too, just boring. Economics holds none of the fascination that literature does for him, nor does it have the practical thrill of mathematics; he takes notes in practiced shorthand, his and Risako's hands move in near-perfect coordination across the paper, and he notices that she uses spiral notebooks.

Halfway through the lecture—which had no preliminaries like the one that Miyagi-sensei had at least attempted—Shinobu decides he's bored enough to talk, which is rare. "What are your other subjects, senpai?" he asks, just loud enough to be heard of the crackly roll of their pens.

"Literature, history, and political science", Risako mutters back immediately; she's only half present, like him. "Yours?"

"The same, and math too." Then something stirs in his mind. "Literature…with which teacher?"

"Kamijou-sensei", she says gloomily. "Had him last year, too. He's downright scary. I wanted Miyagi-sensei this year, to be honest."

"There's nothing special about Miyagi-sensei", Shinobu says, and his voice is almost sharp. "He's just okay."

Risako shrugs. "I loved his teaching back when I was a freshman, but I haven't been taught by him since. Wish the Devil—that's Kamijou—would fall sick or something. I've heard Miyagi doesn't have a whole lot of classes to take anyway."

_Explains why he finds the time to mope in the library._ Shinobu stifles a snort. "Is he that lazy?"

"He works when he feels like it", says Risako thoughtfully, "but it's true that he's lazy. Not the first time I've heard that opinion, certainly. They say he spends hours just roaming around the library or smoking in his office, reading poetry."

"So he smokes too?" he can't resist rolling his eyes. _Doesn't he realize that the smell would stick to old books?_

"Got something against Miyagi, have you?" Risako asks keenly. "It's rare for someone to walk away from an intro class taken by him saying that it was just 'okay', you know."

_Apart from the fact that we seem to be on each other's bad sides already, nothing in particular._ "Nothing in particular." _Am I fucking kidding myself? I can't take his face right now._

And yet his face is exactly what swims into recollection as he turns away stiffly. And it's not from when he'd seen the man's tears, either. The face he sees and so desperately wants to unsee the one he was given at the start of their literature class—that look of forced detachment, of frantic boredom and deep disinterest, which had probably been the reason Miyagi's speech had sounded so jarringly old in the first place.

_What does he think he's doing anyway, throwing his emotions around like that? …or am I the only one who notices? Am I the only one who cares—?_

_I don't care._

_I don't._

"Takatsuki-kun", Risako says after a while, "would you like to hang out with my friends and me after class?"

Shinobu looks up, surprised. Her smile is only gentle. "Is that a done thing, just asking your kouhai to hang out with you?" he asks in spite of himself. He hasn't felt any vibes from her other than those of pure courtesy, so this is startling for him.

"You look lonely", says Risako simply. "And it's only the first day of the year, I can't imagine you've made many friends. What about it?"

_I haven't made any friends at all. I rarely do. I don't really need any._

"I…"

_What am I going to do now, if I go home? My head's feeling funny. And I've already reached the conclusion that I seem to be getting bored of being by myself._

"Yes." His shoulders slump. _Now I'm really just like you._

_I can't. I can't, I don't care, I—_

"I mean, no. I mean—yes! Yes, erm, wait. No. I—"

_Will I be making friends with you?_

"Yes, fine", he says at last. Risako has said nothing throughout his indecisive babbling; she now grins. "Nice to see you've made up your mind. Three o'clock, then?"

"Okay", he says quietly. _I'm losing myself. I can feel it. I'm fucking losing myself, and I don't know how, but it's Miyagi-sensei's fault. _He never had reason nor desire to let his feelings show before this.

_Oh, I'm going to stay on in his class all right._

_What's happening to me?_

"Something wrong, Takatsuki-kun?" Risako asks, her voice soft. "Are you always this quiet?" _You don't know the half of it, senpai._

"No", he mutters dryly. "I'm usually a great deal quieter."

The class trickles to a finish in nauseous silence.


End file.
